


Titanium

by crystalemi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Kidnapping, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mpreg, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Summer Mystrade Exchange, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalemi/pseuds/crystalemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg's always worn his flaws upon his sleeve, while Mycroft buries them deep beneath the ground and pretends they don't exist at all. When the time comes to dig them out and fight together for their own happiness, both of them are not so sure they're ready to show their true colors. Sometimes committing your life to someone else's is easier than accepting you're both broken.</p><p>Summer Mystrade Exchange for timeless-monologue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Titanium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scripting_Rainbows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scripting_Rainbows/gifts).



> The story will live up to its rating with the next chapter. Not beta-read, if anyone feels like trying their patience with it, please contact me, I'm terribly insecure about my (non existent) writing skills and I'd love some help making this readable!  
> End Notes are relevant, please, read them!
> 
>  **Summer Mystrade Exchange for timeless-monologue** : Darling, thanks for the wonderful requests, I had the time of my life writing this the first time.

“I’m starving.”

Greg finds himself on the receiving end of one of Mycroft disapproving stares and that’s terribly endearing, in his opinion, as Mycroft never shows true emotions, unless he’s tired, upset or completely at ease. Greg is fairly sure his partner is still upset from their recent visit to his parents and absolutely exhausted after tending to Greg’s every whim for weeks.

Mycroft’s parents were lovely and absolutely smitten with Greg. Them being so terrifyingly normal, had scared Greg for a couple days. He’d been so sure they’d be faking normality that he’d worked himself into a frenzy, until Mycroft had had him on his childhood bed when his parents had gone out for groceries. After, once he’d felt a bit more at ease, he’d found out just how lovely they truly were.

Also, they were ecstatic about his predicament and apparently not being married wasn’t an issue too. Greg was honestly glad as he didn’t see himself getting married ever again.

“You’re not.” Mycroft replies, a bit sternly. Greg smiles and leans down until his head is comfortably cushioned by Mycroft’s thighs. His partner is still cross at him for not wearing a seatbelt, but Greg can’t be bothered to comply when he can slouch in the luxurious car they’re comfortably riding.

It had been nice seeing Mycroft in his family environment. His usually stern and stubborn Dom had been annoyed and restless the whole time. He was embarrassed by his parents, but Greg had had a field day looking through old photobooks and cooing over his almighty Dom in a nappy at the age of two.

“Can I have Chinese take-away?” he wonders out loud. Since he’s stopped throwing up, take-away is the only thing he can think of. He still doesn’t manage to keep it all down, but it’s progress. He’s still at war to get his coffee back and Mycroft is slowly, but surely, relenting. Tea was reinstated just before their week with his in-laws.

“Mikey?” he asks again after a few minutes of silence. He opens an eye and peers at his partner face. He’s frowning, obviously not pleased about whatever encrypted text he just read.

“I will not redeem the stupidity of this question with its obvious answer.”

The “Stop bothering me I’m working” goes unsaid, but Greg’s becoming an expert in Mycroft’s moods. Not that there are many, of course. They range between “I’m working” to “A scene. Now” passing through “Why do I bother with vanilla” and “I might be getting even fatter”.

It’s stupid because Mycroft is always silently complaining about his midsection while Greg, the pregnant one, is trying to constantly sneak junk food and take-away into the house.

Suddenly hit by a melancholic mood, he rubs his cheek and forehead against the tailored suit. He hears Mycroft huff in annoyance, but one of his hands finds its way to Greg’s hair, so he sighs and rubs some more. Had he been a cat, he’d be purring at the moment, but only a couple of pleased moans escape from his lips. The only acknowledgement he receives is a long manicured finger gently pulling at his black collar.

Greg hums peacefully and slowly slips into a place in his mind that Mycroft calls “sub-space” but that Greg doesn’t really consider the same. It’s terribly different from relinquishing control, and surely it’s never this peaceful during a scene. Right now he’s on a beach, watching the calm sea and hearing the same sounds you can hear when putting a shell to an ear. Greg recognizes his surroundings as the place where he used to go when he was a child and still under constant monitoring of his sexual organs and development. It was the only place in the world the doctors couldn’t reach, as his grandmother would never let his parents shorten the holidays for a medical checkup.

Nowadays the house is empty and waiting for someone to buy it, as neither Greg nor his parents can afford to keep it and no one has any intention of moving there. It’s with a heart of lead that Greg signed off the documents to sell it, as it was left to him and him alone, although he’s still quite happy no one has bought it. He timidly wishes he’ll be able to convince Mycroft to keep it as a holiday home and take there their child, teach him all about football where he learnt and recount anecdotes of his own childhood. He wishes for it to be a place where their child can run to when in need of solitude, just like he had after ending his disastrous marriage with Katherine.

He’s suddenly shaken awake when the car brusquely parks and Mycroft’s hand automatically reaches out to hold him back and save him from a fall. The hand stays for a few second longer on his chest until it lets go as quickly as it had settled.

“Whatever happens, trust me.” He whispers and suddenly the driver door his being opened and the man is hauled out by force. Panic surges through Greg when he hears silenced shots just outside. He gets up but Mycroft is not looking at him, he’s opening his door just as someone on the other side opens the one closest to Greg.

Greg’s hauled out too and forced on his knees before he can react.

Men in balaclavas are conversing in a language he doesn’t understand, but suddenly Mycroft tone shots out and Greg tries to calm down and stay put. Trust Mycroft.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” he states with finality; one of the men, the one that looks to be in charge of the operation, snorts loudly and answers in a heavily accented English.

“Of course you wouldn’t Mr. Holmes, he’s your favourite sniff dog.”

Greg’s not sure whether they’re (politely?) calling him a bitch or actually referring to Sherlock’s dirty habit, but he’s still glad he decided to wear a baggy t-shirt and jeans, maybe they won’t notice the bump on his midsection.

Mycroft makes a great show of rolling his eyes, in answer someone point a gun to Greg’s temple.

“Of course not,” Mycroft says in the one tone that usually makes Greg feel like an illiterate dumb kid, “he’s your leverage.”

At the end Greg can hear loud and clear the “Idiots” went unsaid, and decides that maybe it’s the time to start praying their wannabe-kidnapper have a sense of humour. He doesn’t really want to die before closing the Turner case or before bringing to term his first pregnancy.

There’s a bit of shouting in the other language, the man keeping him at gunpoint sounds extremely angry and Greg wonders for a fleeting moment how long can a foetus survive in his body once they shoot him or if he’d rather Mycroft tell them to shoot his bump too.

“You kill him and I will not talk.”

There’s a handful of seconds when no one moves, no one talks and a couple of cautious glances are thrown around. The man in charge in the end stares at Greg. He’s not looking him in the eye, but the tension is so thick that Greg has to watch away as if he had.

He’ll remember that as the worst mistake ever, as he only have time to hear Mycroft command a scared “No!” before a terrible pain washes over him and his whole world goes black.

**Author's Note:**

> It wasn't supposed to be a story longer than 3 very long chapters (dreams in shackles, the weight of living and stubborn love), but my laptop decided to crash and destroy my carefully chosen and typed 7k words and my other not so carefully chosen but nonetheless typed 40k, so in order to post my gift on time with the exchange deadline, I'm forced to post short chapters. I'll try to post once a week, on Friday, but without my laptop it's a huge feat, as I'm abusing my brother's laptop and he's not happy at all.  
> I hope you enjoyed this "teasing trailer" and will come back for more next week ♥ Thanks for reading!


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